Shield of Faith
by Little Raven-Hawk
Summary: Sequel to Justice Will Rhyne. She had warned us all. No gift of Avalon can help us now. We are alone in this, with only the hope and faith of our children to save us. But will it be enough?
1. Prologue

Prologue

**Disclaimer: same as usual….**

**So I was finally able to come up with a sequel…the beginning of one anyway. I've been real excited to get into the character of all the children, so hopefully this one will come a lot faster than **_**Justice Will Rhyne**_**.**

**I know this is short, but don't worry…I've already got the next chap planned…just have to type it. **

Prologue

The tribes were finally united. North and south and the pagans and Christians alike were fighting under the same red and white dragon banner of King Arthur. We were united and strong.

We thwarted the Saxons, so many years ago. The Celts, the rebellious British tribes who were quick to try and rule after the Romans left Britannia burnt and scourged behind them. Arthur even fought off the Irish, who left untouched by Rome, almost crushed our new nation, still struggling in its infancy.

A long lasting peace was ahead. Arthur's table was full, men and women from all tribes, and of all ages. The children of the Arthur's first generation of knights, one by one, came from behind the shadows of their fathers and into the light. Heroes in their own right.

It was a time of peace, with no real danger ahead. But we were fools to believe it.

She had warned us all, and yet we are still here. No gift of Avalon could save us now. We were alone in this, with only the hope and faith of our children to save us.

But will it be enough?


	2. Sarmatia

_**Disclaimer:…always the same**_

_**Okay, I didn't plan for this to take this long to get up…but my computer went down, so I had to buy a new laptop, then I had surgury and didn't have it with me during my week of recovery…then I have been working like crazy to try and pay off my hospital bills. **_

_**So finally…here's the first chapter of the beginning of what I'm sure will be another long journey…so…let it begin. **_

Chapter One

Sarmatia

It was bloody cold here. That's all that crossed her mind in the last few hours. And she thought it was cold at home. But this was absolutely ridiculous. How could anyone live here at all? It was endless fields of white. And she loved the snow. But there weren't even any trees?

Sparrow shook the snow from her shoulders. It had been coming down in flurries for hours now. She wrapped her hands deeper into the thick furs wrapped around her. She looked to her right. Sianna rode beside her. Now nine years old, she had earned the first horse of her own almost a year ago. A tradition long handed down in Lancelot's family. He brought down his first stag at eight years old. Even his own daughters would be held to that ritual.

He was more the proud father than Sparrow had ever seen him. Except maybe after the twins were born. Sianna is more his "baby" than even Gideon, who would turn four in a few weeks. She couldn't blame him. There was something special about the girl. Ever since she was born. She was meant for greater things than being the daughter of a great knight. Even Calliean agrees. Viviane, the High Priestess of Avalon, does not exactly share the same enthusiasm, but Sianna's gifts may one day change her mind.

Her abilities may not be her grandmother's, but there definitely was a certain advantage about them. They were more feelings than actual visions. Sparrow frowned. For a few years it had seemed that she had inherited Rhyne's visions. And how reliable they would have been. But they were not as clear. That, or Sparrow could not decipher them as well as her mother. And that sat heavy on her shoulders. They had gotten by so far without the advantage, but how long would that last? And there had already been so much time since the last one. Had she been tested and failed? Had the Gods chosen someone else to take up the duty?

Laughter from ahead chased away her thoughts. Elaine and Accolon flanked each side of Lancelot a few yards in front of them. In spite of herself, Sparrow smiled. The twins were more their father's children than her own. Unlike Sianna, who only left her side to be with Arthur. They inherited their grandmother's passion. Not only did they yearn to live their lives by the sword, but they would do it only together. They were beyond inseparable. They knew each other strengths and weaknesses better than anyone else she knew, or even heard of. Merlin said all twins carry a gift of some kind. Part of her could not wait to see them on the battlefield. Or course, being their mother, she never could voice that particular opinion.

"Are you alright, Mama?" Sianna glanced at her concerned.

Sparrow frowned and cursed her daughter's talents. She always could sense when her thoughts were elsewhere. "I'm fine."

Lancelot breathed out a chuckle. "You are still cold, darling?"

The red haired Briton smiled sourly. "Have you not noticed the snow storm?" Her husband ignored her. She could see the silent laughs that Accolon and Elaine were trying to hide. "Don't worry, you'll nice and cozy soon enough."

"And how is that, dear husband?" Sparrow scoffed.

"Like that. There it is," he pointed ahead.

Sparrow squinted through the snow. A green mass slowly began to grow bigger. She rolled her eyes. "Great, so now we can freeze to death under the cover of trees."

"Have faith, love. We are less than a day's ride from the one of the winter camps of the Alani. At least, that's where we camped when I was a child," Lancelot explained.

"And?" Sparrow pushed.

He smiled at his wife's impatience. "My family built a hunting hide here the summer before the Romans came for us. Hopefully, they still use it."

* * *

Sparrow broke a branch from the nearest tree, twirling it in her hands a few times before tossing it over her shoulder in annoyance. She had just completed her third circle of the small grove, and they still hadn't found it. At least it was a little warmer walking than sitting on a horse. She heard footsteps behind her. "Still no luck?"

She shook her head, glaring up at her husband when he stopped next to her. "What do you think?"

He glanced at her. "I'm sorry, baby, but it's supposed to be hard to find. That's the point of a hide. Besides it was over twenty years ago. Maybe they don't even hunt here anymore." She remained silent. He nudged her playfully. "I thought you liked the snow?"

"I've never been in danger of freezing to death back home," she growled.

Lancelot put his arms around her, forcing her to face him. "I know a way we can warm up," he whispered suggestively. His lips caressed the skin below her ear.

Mouth forced into a fine line, Sparrow pushed him away. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Lance. Just find the damn hide." She turned away from him. "Where's Gideon?"

"With Accolon."

She could hear the disappointment in his voice as she heard him trudging off in the other direction. Perhaps in any other situation, she may have been inclined to play along. If there was one thing their marriage didn't have a lack of it was intimacy. She snorted. That's why they have four children, more than any other that sits at the Round Table. Well, besides Bors, but he and Vanora are in a category all their own. He would never fail to give her those slight caresses in a sensitive area that he knew would send her over the edge. Or a playful nip on the neck that would send shivers down her spine. In fact, that's why they had four children instead of two. They had never intended to create Sianna and Gideon. They were "unplanned surprises", Calliean liked to say. Mistakes were too harsh of words.

Despite her annoyance, Sparrow did smile slightly recalling those…situations. A loud snapping erupted behind her, followed by a gasp of surprise. She instinctively drew her sword, facing the possible enemy. Instead, she burst out laughing. She replaced her sword in its sheath, pushing her way through the snow. "Accolon! Your father found it!" she called across the grove. Sparrow bent down to begin fishing her husband out of the collapsed portion of the hide, in which he was left tangled and covered in snow and branches.

The grumbled curses only fueled her laughter. "Mama, what happened?" Elaine appeared behind her.

"You father is just being himself. Help me." Together, Sparrow and Elaine pulled him from the wreakage. Lancelot stood, picking the leaves from his hair. Sparrow pat his shoulder. "Good job, babe." He scowled at her. She just smiled.

* * *

Sianna poked at the fire. The glowing branches shifted and crackled. "Careful, Ana," Lancelot instructed mid-chew. "You don't want to create too much smoke. There could be bandits around here." Sianna silently did as she was told.

Sparrow glanced over at her youngest daughter as Lancelot pulled her closer to him. She had never been a rebellious child, completely opposite of Accolon and Elaine who would do anything to get in trouble. More like Tristan than anyone else in the family. They were like kindred spirits. She had never been destined for a warrior's life. Not like the twins. Sianna's future would be in Avalon or a councilor to the future rulers. Perhaps that's why Lancelot suffocates her so much, he's scared. He doesn't want that life for her. He would rather she be a follower than a leader. But, that's not the way things work.

The twins laughed at a story their father just completed. Probably one from their years at the Wall. Accolon coughed, choking on his drink while Elaine held her stomach in silent laughter. Gideon was out cold in Lancelot's lap. Sianna laid her chin on her knees, staring into the orange flames of the fire.

Sparrow stole a piece of the meat from Lancelot's hand and smiled. "As long as you never tell them what happened the day after Arthur's wedding. It was Lancelot's turn to choke as he struggled to swallow the meat in his mouth. The twins looked at her expectantly. "Absolutely, not. At least not from us."

"We'll meet them tomorrow," Sianna said suddenly. The family went silent, their eyes falling on her, eyes still on the fire.

"You're sure?" Sparrow asked. The girl only nodded, than laid down and closed her eyes to sleep. She turned to Lancelot and gave him a tentative smile. He went suddenly somber.

The twins whispered to each other for a moment then lay down as well, their swords held loosely in their hands. Sparrow covered the fire with dirt as Lancelot covered Gideon with furs. The boy didn't even stir. "I remember when I could sleep like him," she smiled. Sparrow leaned back into him and they lay down together. "But then I met you," she whispered, "and then we had the twins."

Sparrow frowned when the usual sarcastic comments were not followed up by her insult. "Shouldn't you be excited? Happy even?"

Lancelot sighed. "I haven't seen them for over twenty years. What if they are all…gone?"

"We came here to find your family, Lancelot, because I promised you that we would come when the twins were born. Even if all we find is your nieces and nephews.

"What if they are disappointed?"

Sparrow sat up, shocked. "In what? What have you possibly done that would bring them shame? You have been the best knight, friend, husband and father." Sparrow felt for his face in the darkness. Her hand found his cheek and she brought her lips to hers. "If anyone should be nervous, it's me. On whether I deserve you." She felt his lips turn up in a smile as his arms tightened around her.

* * *

Sparrow grumbled when the cold draft woke her up. "What time is it?"

"Just after dawn," Lancelot whispered. "I need to check on the horses."

Sparrow pulled him back to her. "Send Accolon." She wrapped the furs back around them.

Lancelot nudged their oldest child's foot. He jarred awake. "Check the horses."

The boy groaned. "Why me?"

"Because you're not married, and we said so," Sparrow said from underneath the furs. Accolon cursed. He wrapped a fur coat around him and pushed out the door to the hide.

"Should we wake the kids?" Lancelot whispered.

Sparrow snuggled closer to him. "Sianna said we would find them today. No rush." She yawned close to overcoming to sleep once more when she heard a scuffling outside. She sat up, alert.

Lancelot glanced at her, brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Did you hear that?" she whispered.

"What?"

Sparrow focused on outside. For every flutter and whisper. Then she knew she heard it, the muffled ring of someone trying to pull their sword silently from its sheath. She looked across the fire. Accolon had left his sword. She was up in an instant. They had been married long enough that Lancelot recognized her urgency. Sparrow grabbed her sword and shook Elaine awake. "Stay with Ana and Gideon," Sparrow ordered.

Elaine drew her sword with a nod. Sparrow and Lancelot exited together, the cold forgotten as they walked out with just their tunics. The intruders, half a dozen strong and both young and old, were gathered in front of the horses, bundled in fur coats. The falling snow had slowed overnight, as it only lightly came down. Accolon was on his knees in front of who Sparrow assumed the leader of the group, a sword at his neck. He stared back calmly at his parents. She wanted to smile; he would adapt well in battle if he could control his emotions like this.

"Let the boy go," Lancelot demanded. "He's just a kid."

The leader laughed. "He must be at least 12 summers. In Sarmatia, you're a man at 8."

"Give us the horses, and we'll give you the boy," another offered, almost peacefully.

Lancelot snorted. Sparrow gave him a chiding glance. "We are peaceful travelers. Only passing through."

"The only ones that pass through are Romans."

"We are not Roman," Lancelot explained. "We give you our word. We travel from Britannia."

"What is a family from Britannia doing this far east?"

"We are of Sarmatian blood," Sparrow said quickly as she saw the sword tighten around Accolon's neck. "My grandfather was a tribal leader of the Messengae." The natives murmured among themselves for a moment. Many of their swords lowered. "My own mother died in Britain protecting your blood."

"You know some of our kin?" a new voice added in astonishment.

"That would depend on who you are," Sparrow smiled.

"Be careful," their leader ordered. "They may be lying."

"Hold, Truxiol." The Peaceful voice interrupted. From the corner of her eye, Sparrow saw Lancelot lower his sword. The younger man was about to argue when the older pulled down his hood, revealing his face. His hair was starting to grey, and skin beginning to wrinkle. Yet, Sparrow knew that would not make him a weaker opponent. And to her surprise, he smiled. "I am Kreigon, of the Alani. I'm sorry for the hostility, but you could have been anyone. Hunting hides are not easy to find."

Sparrow lowered her sword at his kindness and wearily looked over to her husband. He stared blankly at the others, of which several others had removed their hoods. "Lance," Sparrow whispered. "Do you know them?"

He didn't answer, just continued to stare. He finally glanced down at Accolon, who looked worried. "Father?" He could clearly since the same tension that Sparrow felt. The sword once again tightened at Accolon's neck. Lancelot seemed to snap out a trance and looked at the young leader.

"Truxy, would you mind taking the sword from my son's neck?"

The man froze at what Sparrow assumed was some kind of nickname. "How do you-"

Lancelot stuck his sword in the ground. "Do you not recognize your own cousin when he finally comes home?" He asked with his infamous smile.

Sparrow could barely take a few steps away from him before her husband was bombarded. Laughs and screams of joy were all that was heard in the massive heap in the snow. Kreigon helped Accolon up from the snow with a smile. "Sorry, my boy, you can never be to careful in these times." Sparrow took his chin in her hand, examining his face. A bruise was beginning to form on his lip. He pushed her away.

She rolled her eyes. "Go get your sisters." He only nodded. It was not only his lip that was bruised. Sparrow glanced over her shoulder at the mass of Sarmatian men, still each trying to get their pieces of Lancelot. She turned to face the older man. "My name is Sparrow."

"His wife?"

"Unfortunately." They both laughed.

"How has my nephew behaved?"

Sparrow grinned. "You're his uncle?"

The old man shook his head. "Not by blood. Truxiol's father died young. His mother and I married shortly before Lancelot was taken by the Romans."

Sparrow nodded in undestanding. He eyes him somberly. "Tell me there is still a family to greet him."

Kreigon laughed. "They may actually pommel him for not coming sooner." He looked over her shoulder. "but I can see he's been busy." Sparrow turned and saw the expressions on her children's faces. Gideon giggled and ran over to join the scrambling group of Lancelot's brethren.

The boy somehow found his own father's foot, tugging at it with all his might. Lancelot pushed the others off him, sweeping the boy into his arms. Sparrow admired the complete joy on his face. She had not seen him this happy in a very long time. "Friends! This is my youngest son. Gideon."

"Poor thing, he's gonna look just like you," one of them joked. Lancelot smacked the back of his head roughly. He turned to the other children. "Kids…come here. These are old friends." They came to his side obidently. "This is Accolon and Elaine. The eldest and twins. And this is Sianna. Just received her first horse before we started the journey," he beamed proudly.

Sparrow stuck her sword in the ground beside his and quietly found her way to his side. He wrapped an arm snugly around her. "And this is my beautiful wife, Sparrow."

Perhaps she should have been embarrased. In fact, it took all her strength not to blush. Thankfully, the cold helped. They were just gauking at her. No sound, just wide eyes and grinning mouths. It didn't help that she had on her snug tunic and bear fur pants. She smiled nervously and glanced up at her husband. "I'm bloody cold," she whispered, then walked back towards the hide to get dressed.

She heard him laugh behind her, but she ignored it.

* * *

They were riding again. But this time, Lancelot insisting her to be at his side. Personally, she thought he was showing her off. If he told her he planned on doing that he should have made her put on a bloody dress. For the last hour he told her they were almost there. And yet, all there was, was snow. And the further they went, the more nervous they got. She would finally meet his family, after all these years. Would she live up to their standards? After everything that Lancelot ever told her about his father, it was his approval she yearned for the most. A proud and wise man. Both councilor and warrior. And she prayed that he was well, for Lancelot's sake.

All his friends filled them in on their lives. Who married who was almost a game to them. In most instances, Lancelot had guessed right. But there were always a few surprises. But they all seemed to avoid to speak of his immedaite family. And that worried her. If someone had died, they didn't want to tell them. Sparrow frowned. She knew he would blame himself for not being there. Part of her wanted them to just say it and get it over with. And the other part agreed perhaps it was better to let his own family tell him.

Besides, she had never seen him happier.

"Sparrow," he whispered. She looked to her right, startled. He was closer than he had been a moment ago. He took her hand. "There it is." He motioned with his head.

Sparrow stared into the distance. He was right. She could finally see the huts through the snow, and smoke from the fires. She smiled up at him. There was a light in his eyes she had never seen before. He was home.

* * *

There was commotion all around them. All the huts emptied to welcome home their long lost son. Sparrow sat back with the children, allowing him to go through the reunions alone. He had waited for this for many, many years. A hand was suddenly on her shoulder. Truxiol was at her side. She smiled lightly.

"I'm sorry about punching your son."

Sparrow waved it off. "He's used to it."

"With that man as a father, I'm not surprised." They were silent for a moment. "Thank you for bringing him back to us."

Sparrow looked at him confused. "What do you mean?"

"Lance and I were close as children. Brothers. I know all about the trouble he can get into, and the messes he can make. And I knew it had to be a strong woman to be his wife. You must have kept him alive more than once. And if that's all I learned about you, it would be enough."

Sparrow gave her first real smile since arriving into the village. She laid a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Truxiol."

Her attention was recaptured by the crowd before them. Everyone went silent to watch this reunion. An old man, grey hair, strong features, and a walking stick, made his way through the crowd. All parted for him. His eyes met with Lancelot's. Sparrow knew without having to ask who it was. His father. The man's eyes were already filled with tears. "My son," he said in a cracked whisper. Lancelot didn't move, only looked at his father for approval.

The man set at hand on his cheek and appraised him. "My son," he said again, with a great joy. They embraced.

"Father," she heard Lancelot's sob. They cried together. Sparrow found her own heart burning, and tears on her cheeks. How she wished her mother could see this reunion. Father and son grasped at each other like tomorrow would never come.

"Go to him," Truxiol whispered to her.

She didn't hesitate. Sparrow made her way toward them. She set a comforting hand on Lancelot's arm. He released his father with one arm and pulled Sparrow to him. "Father," he said without wipping his tears. "I would like you to meet my wife. Sparrow…" The emotion in his voice made her want to cry again. "This is my father."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir." All she could do was whisper.

He set a hand on her cheek. "The pleasure is mine, my dear." Then his arms were around them both. "Gods bless you, boy. Gods bless you, both."


	3. Camelot

Disclaimer:...same same same...except for my characters...

Sorry I disappeared off the planet...but I'm an EMT now!!!...yea...and hopefully, no more disappearing for a while. Got some stories to catch up on. Hopefully, this chapter is worth the wait for you guys. I had to do a lot of planning in this chapter for the whole story. Pretty much prepping you for what this story is all about. And I promise not to take this long to update again...

Chapter Two

Camelot

Tristan stood at the water's edge. The water was a darker blue than he remembered. It had been a healthy summer past. Just enough sun. Much more than he was used to since arriving on this island, thirty years ago. He hadn't been here in years. Just after Rhyne's death. If he was to see it again, he assumed this is close to what it would look like. He left Aodh with Guinevere, who'd made quite an attachment to the little infant, and he snuck out of the fort. He sat here all night, trying to find a way to let her go.

And still, after all these years, he couldn't.

"It has been a long time since we've been here," a familiar voice said from behind.

He sighed. "I preferred the beach."

"But we were so much happier here." Her fingers traced over his shoulder as she stepped in front of him. Beautiful as ever. Her typical white gown hung snug to her waist and hips. Though his heart always leapt to see her, these times were becoming more like nightmares. It was starting to become painful.

"Why are you here?"

She chuckled. "Have you not figured it out yet, darling. I don't come here...you call me."

"What?"

"I cannot control your dreams, my love. You dream of me because you cannot let me go." A finger twirled one of his braids.

"I know." He finally let his fingers touch her. He held her cheeks between her palms. "It's been fifteen years, Rhyne. And I still love you. How can I let you go?" His forehead touched hers.

"Will you insist on living alone forever?"

He stepped back in shock. "What?"

She smiled. "You seem to say that a lot."

"I mean it, Rhyne. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Our son and grandchildren kept you from retreating into that shell of yours, yet...it is still eating away at you piece by piece." She crossed her arms, angry. "When you're alone, Tristan, you're a ghost."

"What else do I have to do?"

"You have to live. You have to move on."

"How?!" he turned away from her. "How do you expect me to do that? You are the mother of my son."

"Remember me, Tristan. But let me go."

"How am I supposed to do that, Rhyne. I told you...I couldn't lose you." His voice broke with that last word.

"Don't mourn me forever, Tristan. I know she loves you."

He turned to her again. "Who?"

She gave him a small smile. "Don't tell me you haven't seen it. Who do you think she sticks around for?" Then it made sense. His face showed recognition. "So you do know?"

"Caillean," he whispered.

"Set your heart free..." she whispered in kind. She kissed his cheek. "Now you must wake. Your son is coming."

* * *

His emerald eyes were angry as he marched down the hall to his father's room. Why Arthur always had to send him, he didn't understand. The last few months he felt like a nursemaid to Tristan rather than his son. And yet again he was the messenger sent to retrieve the wayward scout.

At fifteen, Aodhán's body still had yet to catch up with his mind. Like his mother, he carried a maturity that was far beyond his years. At least, that is what he was told by the older knights. Of course, they would know. Merlin however did not share the same opinion, and was the only thing standing between him and a chair at the Round Table.

A constant whisper in Arthur's ear telling him the youngest child of Rhyne is not ready. Lacks patience, virtue and the compassion needed to occupy one of the still empty seats of the infamous Table in the Knight's Hall of this fortress. He of course, did not agree. He was a beacon to all the children of Camelot. And no matter what the others said, like his mother, he would be a knight.

He flicked a braid away from his eyes and knocked on the hard wood. "Father!" No answer. He knocked again. The door opened hastily. A half dressed and disheveled Tristan stuck his head out. Aodhán rolled his eyes. Great. Sleeping. "The Council Preparation?"

Realization came to Tristan's features. "Oh, right...Council..." He disappeared into his room for a moment, before exiting while shoving on an old tunic. "Let's go." Aodhán trailed behind, albeit not too happy.

"You didn't forget..." the young man grumbled.

"No. I didn't sleep very well."

"Sparrow told you to-"

"Talk to Merlin. I know."

Aodhán nodded. "Then maybe you should."

Tristan had no reply to that, so he gave none. His son had drifted away from him in the last few years. Fifteen years old. The same fifteen years he didn't have Rhyne, and neither did Aodhán. It was unfair to the boy that he grew up without a mother, especially without one like Rhyne. She would have taught him much better, just as she taught Sparrow, who they all assumed was still wandering the frozen valleys of his homeland of Sarmatia with Lancelot and their children. They had already been gone five months, unsure of when to expect them back home.

The Fortress Hall was full by the time they finally entered. Tristan's heart still warmed every time he saw every chair full. They had been empty for too many years. The King nodded to his scout shortly before standing, raising his hands in the air for silence. Tristan sat, and Aodhán stood firmly behind him. That's the way it had been for many years now. The son's behind their father's, preparing to one day take their places.

Except for the chair to his right. It would always remain empty, to Arthur's wish. Rhyne would always hold a special place in all their hearts, and declared shortly after her death, that her chair would never be full again. As a memorial to her sacrifice. No knight that ever sat at this table would forget the price she paid for their freedom.

Tristan leaned back, making himself comfortable, allowing his eyes to drift over his companions, and the years that have finally started to show in their faces. Guinevere sat to Arthur's right. Their son, Lucius, had not shadowed his father for many years now. He was ten when he contracted a fatal fever, and was in bed for months before he finally passed. Guinevere almost completely fell to grief, and still after five years, had a hard time saying his name. They had been unable to bear another child. With the presence of Accolon and Aodhán, Arthur was able to mentally survive the death of his son, but to the day, refused to announce an heir. But they all knew, when the time came, Accolon or Aodhán would hold that title.

Lancelot and Sparrow's chairs were empty with their journey back to Sarmatia. Since the twins were eight years old, Accolon would hover over his father's shoulder, and Elaine over her mother's. Raised along side the best parents a kid could have, Tristan knew it wouldn't be long until Lancelot and Sparrow would give up their seats to their first borns. They have been ready to hang up their swords since Gideon was born.

Ywain was killed in the short rebellion that ensued shortly after Lucius' death. A small group of tribal chiefs banded together and demanded a living heir be announced. It did not go well for their new kingdom. Many young soldiers were lost along with Ywain, and the rebel tribe leaders were replaced by loyal men after their executions. Ywain's nephew, Cael now sat beside his father, Agravain. Only sixteen when he took the chair with much to learn, but now, he was the most skilled horseman Tristan had ever seen without any Sarmatian blood. And now as the father of an infant with Bors youngest daughter, Tally, he was becoming quite a man. Cael more and more reminded him of a younger Arthur in the early days of their knighthood.

Dagonet and Bors still sat next to each other and were as cheery as ever. Bors was anyway, still his old self. With all their children now out on their own, Bors and Vanora finally lived alone. Dagonet and Bors hadn't fought in battle for years now, being the older of all the knights. At Arthur's request, not long after the rebellion, they took over a training program for new knights. Even with all their children, only Bors and Vanora's youngest son, Gavin, would be a knight. Gilly now ran the Blacksmith's forge with Lucan. Together, they made the best weapons in the kingdom, and were a team much like their fathers. And with Tarí dying of the same fever as Lucius only months later, Dagonet was as quiet as he'd ever been. She truly was his perfect mate.

Gawain and Galahad as well, still sat in the same chairs. No matter how much Gawain wanted a son, his four daughters with Jamari were the most beautiful and sought out matches in the kingdom. With their eldest married to a Chief in the North and another a priestess in Avalon, his third daughter, Alanna, stood behind him. Her anger streak much like Rhyne's, Tristan almost felt sorry for whatever man would dare call himself her husband. And Kindell, the youngest never left Jamari's side as a healer's apprentice.

For all Gawain and Jamari's happiness, Galahad and Jarrah were not as lucky. Their first child, a stillborn, and the second lived for only days, and hadn't been able to conceive since. But with Gawain's hands full with four daughters, their roles as aunt and uncle suited them well.

Morholt suited their circle well, from the first moment he came North with his band of misfit fighters. Marrying Bors' eldest daughter, Ryann, was quite the scandal when her father found them out. He had a son with another woman who ran back to Ireland, and he didn't have talented ways with people. But it made Ryann perfect for him and his son, Aiden, who was finally sitting next to him.

Isolde left the Table in the last year, deciding to spend the rest of her years in Avalon. Her own daughter, Drusilla, now sat in her place. She and Alanna were as deadly as Accolon and Elaine when on the battlefield. They would be a force to reckon with when Alanna finally sat in her father's chair. Brangaine, Isolde's younger sister, childless, still looked as young as ever. Sparrow believed it was the magic of Avalon that runs in her veins, and assumed she would one day join Isolde in those halls.

And then, there was his own son, standing behind him. Annoyance radiated off him in waves. In the last few years, Tristan had been wondering what he'd done wrong, or whether, the phase Aodhán was going through was perfectly normal. He never paid attention how parents raised their children. He'd left home when he was 11 years old. He had no idea how his own mother would have raised him.

All he knew was Aodhán was a perfect child, until Lucius died, then things started to change. Tristan understood grief at a young age, and what it does to you. His own brother died when he was eight. And he was reminded of that brother everyday with a son named after him. Whether Lucius's death was the still the reason for Aodhán's impatience and anger, he didn't know. However, it was clear, that something had changed in him, and Tristan spent the last few years trying to figure it out.

Merlin repeatedly told him that all would work out in time. That time was all he needed, and that the lessons he still needed to learn he must learn on his own. Whether the shaman was right, they would find out soon enough. And the Council being held on the Badon Celebration this year would show many qualities in every young knight's character.

Tristan flipped the hair out of his face and moved his eyes in Arthur's direction. "Good morning friends," the king greeted. He sat back into his chair and took Guinevere's hand in his. The queen gave him a small smile before his continued. "Now that we have received word from all the tribal chiefs, the Council will take place on the Badon Anniversary. And since we didn't have near as much preparation time as we should have had the last Council, we do hope ten months will be enough this time around."

"What's gonna take ten months?" Bors grumbled.

"That's a good question, Bors...and the answer is building. This time, we are going to accommodate every person is each tribal party."

At that, every mouth dropped, and for just a second, there was silence. Then every occupant at the table voiced their opinion. The room was in an uproar. Arthur had to slam the table for silence. "I know what that means, knights! That we have a lot of work to do. New stables and living quarters. And because of this, we are finally going to extend the fortress wall around the village."

"Arthur..." Morholt cut in. "It took years to build Camelot. Six months alone to build the fortress wall with a thousand men. How will this even be...possible?"

"I have every architect on the island in Camelot already working on designs and calling for resources. We will begin building by the end of the week."

"End of the week?" three asked at the same time.

"Arthur," Tristan leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table. Every head looked his way at the sound of his voice. It was rare he gave his opinion at meeting like this. "What about manpower? Who is going to do all the labor?"

"We've had the best stonecutters on the island training apprentices for the last few months. Whether the wall is complete or not by the deadline doesn't matter. But new stables and living quarters are a must. This will also be an opportunity to create more positions for the villagers, and the more arriving every year. We will need builders, and people to work these new stables and rooms. This will be very good for Camelot and all the people in Britain. Every single one of us will be working, one way or another. It's the only way to make this possible."

"And what about our duties? If we are all going to be working on these new projects...who will be doing the training and patrolling, night watches...?"

Arthur glanced at Guinevere who smiled at him. A real smile, one Tristan hadn't seen in a very long time. Then suddenly, before his king said it, everything became clear. Tristan clasped his hands together and stared at Arthur intently. Guinevere pat her husband's hand, and he took a long look over everyone around the table before answering. "Every knight in training that is over twelve will be taking shifts with a seasoned knight. It's time we give the next generation of this Table a chance."

The table gave a cheer as fathers and mothers embraced the children standing above them. Tristan turned in his chair and clasped the arm of a smiling Aodhán. "This is what you've been waiting for," he said simply. The grin he got in reply made his heart leap. For the first time in years, his son was back. Tristan stood putting his hands on Aodhán's shoulders. "I got my marks when I was ten years old. It's time you got yours."

Aodhán embraced him. "Thank you, Father."

* * *

Tristan spurred Joba forward into a trot as he and Alanna made their trek back to Camelot. Though she had the makings of a good knight, her skills in tracking were not near the talent of his own son. Not that he was surprised. She was not exactly exposed to that kind of training since birth as Aodhán was. They were gifts that most people were born with. The sharp eye sight and ears of a predator. And the intuition. It ran in his family. It seemed blunt force was what Gawain's line was known for. Alanna had the same brutality and intimidation as her father. A mean streak that would make any enemy think twice.

But however different they were, Alanna was a good fighter to have at your side, and Tristan was glad for the opportunity to patrol beside her. Tristan observed the young woman next to him, as she was trying very hard not to look like she was searching for something. Tristan let his lips betray him with a smile.

He knew what it was. The stories has been floating around Camelot for years now. "What are you looking for?"

Alanna snapped her eyes to him. "Nothing," she said quickly. He nodded, waiting for her to ask the question. It didn't take long. "Aodh says that a white wolf follows you."

He smiled. "Yes, she shows herself at times."

"At times?"

"The times I go looking for her, I see nothing. But when I don't, I see flashes of her. Like she wants to me to know she's there."

"You know it's a she?"

"Female wolves have different behaviors than males. It's a female."

"Is she here?"

"Perhaps."

"Is it true that she followed from the Wall?"

"There could be a chance that it is another white female wolf. But what kind of chance is there that two wolves have the same behavior?"

Alanna looked skeptical. She hesitated with what she said next, as if trying to decide her words carefully. "Rhyne had a wolf that guarded her...right?"

"Yes, she did," he said thoughtfully, still at times missing the presence of Rhyne's companion. "Hawk. His was...different."

They emerged from the trees and Camelot finally came into view. "Do you think this wolf is doing the same thing?"

Tristan looked away from her, focusing on the construction area of the new fortress wall being built around the growing village. After only a month, the building was well underway of all the new projects that Arthur had announced. "I don't know, Alanna. But she certainly is different."

They trotted into the city walls in silence, the next patrol pair coming toward them. Morholt was laughing at something Aodhán had just said. After two weeks, the tattoos on his son's cheeks were finally almost healed. The skin no longer pink and puffy, and the scabs almost gone. Different from his own markings, Aodhán wanted something that represented not just his Sarmatian blood, but British blood as well. His marks were slashes wrapped in a swirled knot.

"Don't get yourselves in too much trouble," Tristan smiled.

Morholt clapped Aodhán's shoulder. "No promises."

The pairs passed each other in good spirit. Tristan observed the smile on his son's face. It was a rare treat. Aodhán didn't do too much smiling nowadays. Not since he was a child with everything going for him. Who believed himself to be invincible. Not since Lucius died. Tristan may be a man that notices the details that no one else does, but there are few memories he can still feel. That he can still smell and hear each and every sound there was to take in. Memories that felt like yesterday. Seared so indefinitely into his mind he doesn't have to close his eyes to remember. He knows them, he doesn't just remember them.

The night Lucius died was one of them, along with the last minutes with his father, and their fight for freedom on Badon Hill, and the death that haunted them all.

But now, his son's happiness was contagious. Tristan grinned, letting his fingers slide across Aodhan's arm as their horses passed by. "Be careful," he called out over his shoulder.

"Always," his son called back.

Tristan dismounted, handing Joba's reigns to a stable boy, intent of heading up towards the castle. "Tristan," the king greeted kindly, coming from the stables himself. "How goes it?"

"All is well."

"I see Aodh has gone out with Morholt."

"Aye, and he may be too happy about it."

Arthur chuckled as they fell into step with each other, walking amiably up the steps of Camelot. "It is good to see him smiling again. It's been a long time."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"I sometimes forget how much he and Accolon loved Lucius." They passed over the threshold to the entrance doors as a gentle silence drew over them. "There are some nights I dream of them, still young, getting into trouble as usual," a fond smile found it's way onto his lips.

Tristan allowed himself a smile as well. With every passing year, it is easier for Arthur to speak of his son. But never could he have imagined having this conversation with his king. "They did what all young boys did."

Arthur nodded. "Not you, I assume Tristan. I can't imagine you leading around a rag tag group of trouble makers. Or following one."

"It was easy getting onto Aodh in the beginning, when he was just learning how much fun trouble could be. But we were kids at one time or another. Some still are, no matter how much they grow up."

The king laughed. "True enough. It sounds like something Merlin would say."

"He did say it," Tristan murmured, a twinkle in his eye.

A booming laugh filled the hall. A few looked their way, finding a smiling Tristan walking with two hands clasped behind his back beside a king with both hands covering his face, trying to contain his glee.

"Oh, Tristan. It seems a happiness has settled over all of us in the last months." They were silent once more. A few servants passed by, carrying baskets of laundry. Not the typical droned faces, but one of expectation. Of excitement. But that was no surprise. Even if it was still nine months away, the Council of the Chiefs was all Camelot talked about these days. "I wasn't sure I could ever feel this again, not after losing him." Arthur sighed as Tristan did what he was best at, staying silent. "But...we all have to heal sometime. You are proof of that."

"That was Aodh's doing, Arthur. If I had lost them both...I can't bare the thought of it."

"I know. Nor I. I wonder sometimes, if it was because so much was going well, that we had to be reminded what loss meant."

"Arthur," Tristan stopped, looking him in the eye. "Lucius was sick. We couldn't control that. A lot of people died that winter. It was just something that happened. It could have been any of us. It wasn't meant to be. It couldn't. He was a child."

Arthur's eyes wondered for a moment, until they came to rest on his own hands. With a slight tremor, they came to rest on Tristan's shoulders. "Thank you, my friend. Thank you," and he walked off, with less confidence in his step than before.

Tristan kept his eyes on the king as the footsteps approached him from behind. "It is sometimes hard to understand what a crown can do to a man. But that one, holds his heart on his sleeve. I fear too much so."

Tristan let out a deep breath. "Merlin."

"Tristan," the shaman replied in kind.

The scout stood for a moment, wanting to take in the calm before the ranting started. "Are you here to badger me some more?" he finally asked.

"Not at all," Merlin smiled. The smile that Tristan resented, because he knew what was coming.

"You may be able to pass that lie to everyone else, but not me," Tristan said coolly before walking away.

"I know what troubles you, my son," the shaman calls after him.

Tristan stopped, turning slowly. "I'm not your son."

Merlin stepped forward tentatively. "No matter the years that go by, your heart still troubles over her."

"Should it not?"

"On the contrary, Tristan. She is the mother of your son. It would be inhuman to not think of her. But it's more than that," his voice dropped lower as he approached. As if it was a secret. "You wish to move on, but you fail because you cannot let her go."

"How can I? When I see her every time I look at his face. You tell me as if it was easy," Tristan snapped.

"That's not why, Tristan. Sometimes, when someone else tries to crawl in, you cannot help but fight for the one you lost." His expression fell over Tristan with ease, as if it was common knowledge. Tristan's eyes glanced away, ready to let disbelief slip passed his lips. But he knew exactly what Merlin was implying. "Did you think simply avoiding her would make her go away?" the shaman whispered so low, untrained ears would never catch it.

"Not once, have I ever asked her to come. Or to stay. That was her choice."

"Perhaps. But the desires of our hearts have a way of making us decide rashly. The closer she tries to get, the more you hide behind Rhyne. The more you hide behind your son."

Tristan glanced at him with fury. "I am no coward. Aodh did not need another mother. He already had one."

Merlin smiled gently. "But he is grown. No longer in need of his father's hand. He will desire his own woman in the days to come. But will you?"

"I don't need another woman," Tristan seethed, turning away from him once more. "I had the only woman I ever needed, and she's gone."

He followed the halls to his room. No steps followed him.


End file.
